


Wendigo

by foggysundays



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Dean, Rimming, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 01:44:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13043934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggysundays/pseuds/foggysundays
Summary: Forthis prompt!Dean goes into heat in the middle of a hunt and begs John to fuck him better.John complies but what he doesn't know is that Dean planned this and neglected to take his heat suppressant and birth control pills on purpose.





	Wendigo

Dry leaves crunch beneath his boots when he squats down to get a closer look at the imprints of feet etched into the muddy forest floor: the broad outline of a heel, five toes twisted into lethal claws – corrupted and crippled they may be, but there´s still something vaguely human about them, a faint memory of things-that-once-were, a reminder of what can happen to a man if he loses his grasp on humanity.

John doesn´t fear Wendigo – they may be near-perfect hunters, but he knows how to fight them, how to use their own strengths against them, and he has killed enough monsters to be confident in his ability to bring another one of them down.

He _does_ fear what they represent, though – the descent into darkness, the loss of reason. He´s been on the brink of humanity himself more times than he can count, and he knows that it´s a slippery slope - just because he hasn´t fallen over the edge yet, doesn´t mean that he _won´t_. It´s a fight he´s been struggling with every single day for years now.

Up until now, he´s always been able to pull back, to stop himself before it was too late, but deep down he knows that it´s only a matter of time. His hunger may be different from that of a Wendigo, but it´s just as potent, just as dangerous. Just as wrong.

It doesn’t help that temptation is never more than a few feet away.

“Dad!”

Dean´s voice is low and calm, a faint trace of urgency telling John that his boy has found something important. Sure enough, the nineteen-year-old is crouching next the mauled corpse of a park ranger, clever fingers efficiently patting him down and pulling his badge and I.D. from between torn cloth and bloody flesh.

“That´s one of the missing rangers. We´re getting closer to its den.”

John nods and inhales deeply, takes in the metallic tang of blood and the dark, threatening musk of Wendigo surrounding the place. They´re well into its hunting grounds now, claw and scent marks littering the area and warning everyone against stepping into its territory.

There´s something else underneath that threat, though... Another scent.

He takes a second breath, opens his mouth slightly to take it all in, but there´s too much blood to get a good read on it, the putrid taste of decay suppressing everything else.

Dean´s looking at him expectantly, shrugging when John raises an eyebrow in question.

Well then, if Dean and his heightened Omega senses are unable to detect something out of the ordinary, then John himself certainly won´t be able to, either. They have more important things to do, anyway.

He gets up and shoulders his duffel bag once more, motions for Dean to do the same.

“Get your ass back into gear, there´s only two hours left till nightfall and I want us to make a few more miles before we set up camp.”

And they´re going to need a 'real' camp tonight: a fire, protective sigils. Anything less would be downright suicidal with the Wendigo being this close already.

For the next seventy minutes, they make their way through the forest, weapons at the ready, eyes roaming the foliage for any sign of movement.

It takes John a while to notice that Dean is falling behind, his son´s steps nowhere near as confident as they were only moments ago, hands gripping the flare gun tighter and tighter. The boy´s flushed, his breathing fast and harsh – like he´s been running for miles, not slowly making his way through an almost flat terrain. Something´s wrong.

“Everything alright, Dean?”

He doesn’t mean to sound as rough as he does, impatience and his desire to cover more ground getting the better of him, but his boy straightens up anyway, shoulders pulling back, eyes snapping up to meet his.

“Sir, yes, sir. Just a bit tired, ´s all.”

John frowns. There´s _definitely_ something wrong.

Dean doesn´t tire that easily – his boy may be an Omega, but he´s fucking _tough_ , John himself has seen to that. They´re hunters, there´s no place for delicate housewives or stupid little fuck toys that need protecting. Hard training and endless fighting lessons have ensured that Dean can take down Alphas twice his size without even breaking a sweat - a little hiking shouldn’t affect him _that_ much. Maybe he´s coming down with something…

“There´s a clearing ahead, we gonna set up camp right there. Think you can make it?”

Dean nods, earnest and eager, and sets off at a quicker pace. “Yes, Alpha.”

They set up camp as quickly and efficiently as ever, Dean handling the tent and building a fire while John draws Anasazi symbols in a wide circle around it.

Dinner is nothing special, just canned beans and beef jerky, but after a whole day of hiking it tastes better than a fancy steak dinner. At least in John´s opinion.

Dean, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically quiet and barley touching his food, squirming in unease, eyes anxiously darting to John and quickly looking away whenever their gazes meet. He looks like hell, clearly exhausted and in desperate need of sleep.

“Go get some shuteye, Dean. I´ll take first watch.”

The fact that his boy obeys without hesitation is another testament to the state he´s in – his eldest may not argue as much as Sammy does, but Dean doesn’t appreciate being treated like a child either, and normally he´d have something to say about that. Tonight, he just crawls into the tent without another word, clearly happy to leave the cold forest floor and the Wendigo as far behind as possible.

John watches him leave before silently shaking his head. He should´ve left the boy at home with Sammy. Having Dean here to help him with the hunt is invaluable, but a sick Dean is a liability he can´t afford – not when it´s a Wendigo that they´re hunting, not when they´re a two-days-hike from civilization with no means to call for help. He can only hope that it´s just a stomach bug or something equally easy to cure…. when push comes to shove, he can always keep Dean in the safe circle of their camp and go out to finish the hunt alone. He´s done it before – it´s not going to be a cakewalk, but he can handle it if he needs to.

For a while John just sits there, quietly watching as darkness descends all around him.

Normally twilight in the forest is accompanied by a myriad of noises, birds singing, little animals hurrying through the undergrowth.

Tonight, their camp´s surrounded by deadly quiet, the whole forest holding its breath as the Wendigo stalks them silently, a shadow moving within shadows, a silent threat, glowing eyes watching from the trees.

It´s just shortly after midnight when the noises start: claws digging into wood, twigs snapping, leaves rustling.

Voices in the distance, quiet whimpers, desperate cries for help, begging, pleading, demanding.

John doesn´t move.

Distraction - it´s all just a distraction, a ploy to lure him far away from the safety of their camp, a barley hidden attempt to get him to step out of the protective circle.

That knowledge doesn´t make the cries any less realistic, though, the pleas less desperate, his desire to help less urgent.

There´s real people out there after all, three hikers that have been taken by the Wendigo only four days ago. Three hikers that might still be alive and waiting for someone to rescue them.

The inability to help is killing John, reason and instinct fighting another endless battle within him. He _hates_ days like these, hates to be confronted with the fact that he can´t save everyone, that other people will have to suffer, will share his fate, will know the pain of losing a loved one to the darkness.

It gets even worse when the Wendigo starts imitating Dean´s voice. It´s one thing to listen to virtual strangers calling out to you, but when it´s _your own son_?

Rationally, John knows that Dean´s save, that his boy is sleeping in the tent behind him. That it´s not _Dean_ begging him to come and save him, that it´s not _Dean_ whimpering and crying out for his Alpha, for his _father_ , for – _Fuck!_

John´s up and on his way to their tent in mere seconds, heartbeat thundering in his ears, adrenaline levels spiking when he realizes that there´s _two_ voices calling out to him. _Two_ , not _one_.

His fingers fumble with the zipper, impatience reducing his movements to clumsy groping, a million scenarios running through his head, because Dean doesn´t _beg_ , doesn´t _plead_. He hasn´t heard his eldest use _that_ tone of voice in years. Not since his first heat, not since he started taking suppressants – _Yes_! The zipper unsticks itself, and he pulls it down frantically, pushes the fabric aside, nearly ripping it in the process, and then he´s finally, _finally_ inside that damn tent.

The smell hits him like a freight train.

It´s the same one from before, only now a million times more potent.

It´s desire and need, lust and want, his darkest secrets and most shameful dreams rolled into one blinding, thought-consuming scent.

Dean has turned toward him at the first rasp of the zipper and now bright green eyes are blinking up at him, emotions John doesn’t dare name flashing through them. For a long moment they just stare at each other unmovingly, tension rising between them and John feels like he´s suffocating. His treacherous dick is already stirring in his jeans, insistently pressing against his zipper and his Alpha comes rushing to the surface, roaring and wild, clawing at his skin, demanding to takefuck _claim_.

A shred of consciousness breaks through his haze, and John stumbles back in horror – no matter what his instincts are screaming at him, this Omega is _still his_ _son_!

Dean is not _his_ to claim, not _his_ to fuck, not _his_ to take.

Dean shouldn’t even _be_ in heat, a generous dose of high-end suppressants usually doing their best to keep his Omega nature in check, his heats at bay. John can´t afford to be distracted twice a year by the need to care for an in-heat Omega, can´t afford to lose Dean to the haze of frantic sex, or worse, to some _idiot Alpha mating him_.

John´s brain short-circuits at the mere thought of that and he hears himself growl, low and threateningly, canines descending in preparation for a fight. Dean whines in response and shifts a bit, instinctively trying to make himself smaller, and his flimsy blanket slides further down his torso, exposing pale, smooth skin to John´s hungry gaze. The Alpha in his chest roars.

God fucking _damnit_.

Suppressants failing is not unheard of. It´s just _extremely_ rare, a matter of natural hormones overriding the chemical ones, a minor inconvenience that usually ends with the Omega hiding away in their bedroom, toys or a willing partner easing the pain.

No big deal. _Usually_.

The suppressants failing them now, though? _Here?_ It´s so damn catastrophic that John can feel bile rising in his throat, nausea gripping him, because there´s _nothing_ out here to help Dean, _nothing_ to ease his symptoms: no toys, no Alpha. _No one_ to knot him through the fever and pain.

Nothing but the Wendigo and some rotting corpses. No one but his very own father...

John takes another step backwards, tries to breath in fresh air, to clear his head, but Dean´s intoxicating scent is fucking _everywhere_ , a siren call luring in every damn Alpha in the damn vicinity.

A low growl from behind him has John spinning around lightning fast, sharp gaze scanning the area and immediately finding the place where the shadows thicken and deepen.

Glowing eyes are watching them from the darkness, and then the Wendigo carefully takes another step closer, long fangs glistening in the moonlight as it starts pacing the lines of their protective circle.

John has never seen one of those creatures this close, has never had the chance to admire their feral wildness, the raw brutality in their features. The hunter, the researcher in him cheers quietly at this once in a lifetime opportunity and mentally takes notes, excited at the prospect of adding more valuable details to his journal. The Alpha in him growls and readies itself for a fight, instincts screaming at him to protect his Omega, to protect his mate.

Shuffling from the tent turns his attention around once more, all thoughts of Wendigo and fight bleeding from his brain at the sight of Dean´s fumbling attempts to undress himself.

His boy is flushed and sweaty, boxers sticking to his skin, heavy with slick, the tip of his swollen cock peeking out from beneath the waistband of his underwear.

He´s _glorious_ , the single the most beautiful thing John has ever seen, and God help him, he _wants_ , wants like he has never wanted before, desire and need nearly overpowering the shattered remains of rational thinking he still has.

Dean whines then, high and desperate, feverish eyes locking with John´s and a new wave of fresh slick-scent hits the air around them.

“Need you, Alpha, _please_!”

It takes everything John has not to just give in and run to Dean´s side, slide those boxers down his son´s quivering thighs and bury his face between the cheeks of his ass. Jesus fucking Christ, Dean smells better than any Omega he´s ever met, sweet and musky all at once, ripe and fertile. Ready to fuck. Ready to knot.

But he can´t, he´s not _that_ kind of Alpha, not that kind of a _father_. He needs to leave. Needs to run, needs to get away from temptation before he does the unspeakable, before it´s too late and his resolve snaps.

Sharp pain explodes in his arm and it´s only his fast reflexes that safe him from certain death, his body moving before his mind catches up with the danger, and he lands on his ass in the dirt, out of reach of the Wendigo that is pressed against the invisible border of their little circle, body vibrating with fury and lust.

There´s blood on John´s sleeve , his jacket torn and shredded where claws have pierced his skin, but it´s nothing major, nothing that a generous helping of whiskey can´t cure.

He´s trapped, though. Trapped with Dean, his weapons stowed away in the back of the tent, out of reach for now.

Dammit, John needs to get a grip on himself. There´s no way around it.

The Wendigo howls, and Dean echoes him with a moan, the sound going straight to John´s straining cock, and his fingers twitch in the dirt, digging into the soft forest floor to keep himself from looking over to the tent opening.

He can´t look, knows he´ll give in if he does.

Fabric rustles as Dean begins to move again, restless and clumsy, and there´s more quiet whimpers, a wet thud, and John realizes that his son must be naked now, soaked-through underwear no longer obscuring the muscular curves of his body.

On the other side of their thin border, the Wendigo is pacing again, burning eyes shamelessly fixed on Dean.

Its blazing interest in the Omega isn´t all that surprising, Wendigo´s are creatures of instinct, after all. Fighting and killing, fucking and breeding – these actions have always been tangled together when an Omega in heat is involved, it makes sense that a Wendigo would be drawn in by Dean´s scent.

Doesn´t mean that John has to like it, though. Jealousy is rising hot in chest – how dare this foul creature look at what is _his_? He wants to rip it´s eyes out, make it pay, burn it to ash and dust for even _thinking_ that it can lay it´s dirty claws on Dean, on his perfect little Omega....

There´s a slick, wet sound and then Dean is crying out – not in pain, _definitely_ not in pain - but John can´t help it, parental instincts kicking in, and his head whips around and he immediately freezes, mouth gaping, because Dean... _Dean_...

Dean is down on all fours now, legs spread obscenely wide, cock and balls heavy and swollen between his glistening thighs. He´s wet, _so fucking wet_ , slick dripping down his hand, pink rim stretching easily around the girth of two of his fingers. He´s fucking himself , a slow pump in and out, face flushed, mouth open and panting as he watches John with unmistakable heat in his eyes. Jesus _Christ_.

“ _Please_ , Alpha, need your knot! Need you to fuck me better, make the pain stop.”

John feels his cock give another twitch, more insistent now, the base of it aching like he´s about to pop his goddamn knot already.

_He´s your son, asshole, your fucking son!_

He swallows thickly, tries to tear his eyes away from the spectacle in front of him.

“Dean... That´s the heat talking. You´re delirious, you – you don´t really want this.”

Dean gasps in answer and twists his hands a bit, fingers pushing deeper, spreading himself wider.

“´s not the heat. Always wanted this. Always wanted _you_ , Alpha.”

John stands up, takes an involuntary step forward, shame heating his cheeks because he can´t look away, God help him, he _can´t_.

“Fuck. me. Alpha!” Dean is panting now, eyes rolling back in pleasure when his fingers push in again, free hand fisting the blanket in desperation. “Please, _Daddy_ , give me your cock!”

John´s in that godforsaken tent in 2 seconds flat, hands digging into the meat of his son´s ass cheeks and spreading him wide open.

Dean cries out when his father shoves his tongue into his hole, body tensing and shuddering as he comes for the very first time that night. John fucks him right through it, sucks and licks until his Omega is nothing but a boneless mess, pliant and lose, moaning when he adds two of his fingers.

He shushes Dean quietly, presses open-mouthed kisses on the sweaty skin of his lower back and rubs a soothing hand down his flanks.

God, his son is _beautiful_ , so fucking pretty - muscular but lean, still trying to grow into his adult body. He tastes even better than he smells, all ripe and _Omega_ , and John´s Alpha is nearly panting in anticipation, his desire to claim stronger than ever before.

A tiny voice in the back of his head is still whispering that this is wrong, that he _shouldn´t,_ but it´s ridiculously easy to push it away, to concentrate on the smell and taste and feel of Dean instead, on the way the muscles in his ass clench and tighten when John pushes his fingers in at the right angle, on the way slick gushes out of his loosening hole, wet sounds and low moans echoing in the dark forest around them.

John´s erection is painful at this point – freeing it from the confines of his jeans is a near orgasmic experience in itself. He doesn´t bother to undress completely, just shoves the fabric down his thighs and gives himself a few slow strokes, hesitating for a long second, before he finally gives in and pushes forward. His cock fits perfectly between the muscular globes of Dean´s ass, the head catching on his pink rim on every stroke, pre-come mixing messily with the slick that is already coating his skin.

Dean can´t seem to shut up, greedily pushing into each thrust and demanding _more_ , begging to be fucked in a voice that should be illegal and is eroding John´s self-control at a frightening pace.

It´s still not enough.

He presses closer, blanketing his son´s body with his larger one, teeth dragging against the soft skin of his neck.

“Say it, Dean. Tell me what you want, little Omega.”

His son keens and leans into the touch, tilts his head to the other side to give him better access.

“Knot. Me, Alpha, _please_. Want your cock, Daddy, want you to breed me, fill me up with your come! Want you to – Fuck _, yes_!”

Dean cries out when John pushes in, wet heat engulfing his cock and pulling him deeper, the Omega´s body trembling beneath him, around him.

Jesus, fuck, he´s _tight_ , virgin muscles barley able to accommodate John´s girth - there´s no way it doesn´t hurt, but Dean doesn´t seem to mind the pain, just pushes back impatiently, little whimpers falling from his abused lips

His son is moaning like a two-dollar whore, completely unashamed and more arousing than any porn clip John has ever watched.

It´s the breathless whisper of “ _Alpha_!” that does him in, instincts taking over, and he snaps his hips forward harshly, buries himself to the hilt, half-swollen knot stretching Dean´s hole obscenely wide.

John pulls back with a grunt, half-way out before he slams back in, the force of his thrust pushing Dean forward, and he readjusts his hands, grabs his son´s hips in an iron grip to hold him in place, and then repeats the motion, hard and deep, skin slapping together.

And holy shit, it´s _good_ , so fucking good – better than any of his fantasies, hotter than any of his dreams. Dean is snarling and begging underneath him, sweat making his skin glow in the dim light of the fire, and John´s leans back a bit, watches himself disappear into his son´s ass, rim stretching wide, skin pink and swollen, _gorgeous_. Such a perfect little bitch.

Dean´s dick is just as wet as his ass, slippery with pre-come and jerking when John gives it a few teasing strokes and rubs his thumb around the sensitive head.

His hand strays further, slides over the desperate clench of Dean´s stomach all the way up to his perfect little tits, compact and masculine and about a thousands times more sensitive than any Alpha´s.

“Fuck, Daddy, _yes_ – more!”

John smirks and obliges, pinches the Omega´s firm little nipples even harder, and pushes himself deeper into Dean´s ass.

He´s not going to last. Already, his knot is catching on his son´s rim on every thrust – ´s not big enough to lock them together yet, but it´s not far off either, Dean´s scent and slick and moans destroying his self-control and stamina.

A sudden cry tears through the night then, furious, full of frustration, and they both freeze mid-fuck, heads whipping around to face the tent opening – Shit. _Wendigo._

But the creature is still only circling their camp, still unable to come closer, watching them fuck with the full indignation of a predator that knows that it has lost his prey to treachery.

A fresh wave of possessiveness surges through John, his Alpha roaring in triumph and satisfaction, because Dean is _his_. Dean has always been his. Dean will always belong to him.

“You gonna let him fuck me, Dad?”

His Omega is watching him through half-lowered lashes, shoulders trembling, arousal saturating each word.

“I bet he´d do me real good, stuff me full of that big, fat monster cock, fuck me hard enough to hurt...”

Dean begins to impale himself on John´s cock again as if to demonstrate, slow and deep, one of his hands working his own leaking dick.

“You could watch, Alpha. Watch him fuck me till I´m open and wet for you, dripping with Wendigo come. Want to watch you kill him, then knot me right after, want you to – _ugh_!”

The metallic taste of blood explodes all over John´s tongue when he bites down into the meat of Dean´s neck, sharp teeth piercing his skin, and the Omega immediately goes slack beneath him.

John growls. Fucking _tease_.

He doesn´t give Dean time to catch his breath again, needs to show the little brat once and for all that John doesn´t _share_ , not even in theory. He fucks that stupid idea right out of him, the pace punishing and brutal, his knot swelling and making it harder and harder for him to pull out. All too soon, they´re both shaking with pleasure, desperate for release, the fury of the Wendigo outside only spurring them on.

Dean´s a sobbing, incoherent mess at this point, and it doesn´t take more than a few more well placed thrusts to have him coming on John´s cock, muscles clenching around him like a vice. That´s enough to send John over the edge too, knot expanding and locking him inside his son´s body, and they both collapse in a boneless, sweaty heap, minds ablaze with pleasure.

John shifts them around after a few moments, rearranges their limbs until they´re lying next to each other, Dean´s back plastered to his chest, whole body encircled in John´s embrace.

His son starts purring then, a low rumble that has contentment spreading through the both of them, and John enjoys the feeling of bone-deep satisfaction, the knowledge that he has pleased his Omega making his Alpha giddy with happiness.

It doesn´t last very long.

 _What have you_ _done_ _?_

The sudden thought punches all air from his lungs, and John tenses, horror flooding his mind and clearing away any leftover heat-instincts, previously gentle hands digging into Dean´s skin and pressing down onto his stomach that is now swollen with John´s come.

_You wanted this. Have always wanted this._

Dean doesn´t seem to notice his turmoil, nothing but newly awakened arousal coloring his scent when he rocks his hips back carefully, a gentle grind that has the muscles of his ass tightening around John´s knot. Pleasure tingles up John´s spine, but his disgust is stronger, nausea rising in his throat.

_What kind of monster fucks his own son?_

Said son sighs contently and pushes one of John´s hands further down, wraps it around his cock, urges him to start stroking. He´s already nearly fully hard again.

_What would Mary say?_

Another whimper. “ _Yes_ , Alpha just like that!”

Dean´s sighs turn into moans and he rocks his hips a little faster, fucking himself between John´s knot and his shaking hand.

“So good, Daddy. Wanted this for so long.”

John´s body is reacting without his consent, Dean´s heady in-heat smell doing everything to harden his cock, but nothing to ease his conscience. Not this time.

“You´re going to take care of me from now on, won´t you, Alpha? Gonna fuck me better. Knot me – _Fuck!_ – _breed_ me up real good.”

Part of John wants to deny Dean´s claim, wants to scream and tear himself away, call this a one-time accident and just move on with their lives, maybe find another Alpha to take care of his son...

But he´s Dean´s now, body and soul. Always has been. Always will be.

He´s been circling this trap for years now. He´s seen the signs, has been aware of the danger.

It´s his own damn fault for thinking that he´d be stronger than this.

John´s hips rock forward of their own accord, pushing in deeper, and Dean groans and clenches, pre-come dripping down his cock and all over his father´s hand. His scent spikes.

“Never gonna need suppressant ever again, will I, Daddy? Hated them anyway.”

He begins to move faster, impatiently chasing another orgasm, and John moves with him, shame burning brighter than his body´s arousal.

Outside, the Wendigo howls.

 


End file.
